


make the man

by lyricalprose (fairylights)



Series: 2013 Fic Advent Calendar [17]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 2013 Fic Advent Calendar, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairylights/pseuds/lyricalprose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Besides,” he sniffs, stealing his glass back from Rose and taking a sip, “costumes are shockingly lacking in pockets, more often than not.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, try wearin’ women’s clothes sometime,” Rose says dryly. “That’s not just a costumes thing.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	make the man

**Author's Note:**

> [isilienelenihin](http://isilienelenihin.tumblr.com) asked “Doctor/Rose, costume party.”
> 
> Fill #18 for my [2013 fic advent calendar](http://lyricalprose.tumblr.com/tagged/2013-fic-advent-calendar).

“This,” Rose announces, as she fiddles with the layers of her poufy dress, attempting to find a way to navigate onto the barstool next to him, “is, by far, the weirdest fancy dress party I’ve ever been to.” She finally manages to wriggle onto the stool, then huffs in frustration to find that her skirt has bunched up in between it and the bar. “I mean, the costumes are brilliant, but I don’t recognize a single one of of ‘em. Not even the one I’m wearing.”  
  
“ _Well,_ It’s not _really_ fancy dress,” the Doctor says, watching with some degree of amusement as Rose continues fighting with her gown. “ _Looks_ like it, but it’s par for the course ‘round here. No one would _dream_ of coming to a party dressed as _themselves._ It’d be the height of impropriety to arrive _not_ wearing some kind of outlandish get-up.”  
  
“Is that what I’m wearing, then?” Rose asks, as she continues to adjust her skirts with difficulty. “An outlandish get-up? Here I was thinkin’ it was a sorta nice dress.”  
  
He reaches to help her without thinking, grabbing a handful of what he’s fairly certain is the fifty-third century’s take on organza and shifting it a bit, so that she can sit more comfortably.  
  
It’s only when he realizes that she’s gone rather still and quiet that he jerks his hand away, clearing his throat and focusing very intently on the whirl of dancing couples out on the party’s dance floor.

  
“Course it’s a nice dress,” he says airily, while very deliberately trying not to look at the dress in question. “You look–”  
  
 _Beautiful. Amazing. Better in less voluminous clothing._ “Lovely.”  
  
Rose grins at him, cheeky. “Lovely, hm? Lovely as whoever it is I’m supposed to be dressed as?”  
  
“Empress Tofelia IV of the Farralex Regency. Brilliant commander, rubbish conversationalist, fair to middling squash player, and you’re much lovelier than her.”  
  
(The last bit comes out perhaps a bit more passionately than he intended).  
  
Rose, for her part, simply takes the compliment with another smile before reaching out to snatch his drink. “So where’s your costume, then? If it’s so rude to come to a party without one?”  
  
“I changed my tie,” the Doctor protests indignantly. “I’m – I’m a twenty-first century human.” He nods, decisively. “That’s it. There’s my costume.”  
  
“Besides,” he sniffs, stealing his glass back from Rose and taking a sip, “costumes are shockingly lacking in pockets, more often than not.”  
  
“Yeah, well, try wearin’ women’s clothes sometime,” Rose says dryly. “That’s not just a costumes thing.”  
  
“Don’t worry, you lot get better at that. Eventually. Twenty-third century or so.”  
  
Rose gives him a dark look. “But it’s not a costume if you wear it all the time. ‘S just ordinary clothes.”  
  
“They’re ordinary to you. They’re from your planet. But to this planet, to these people, they’re exotic.” The Doctor waggles his eyebrows in her direction, but the smile he expects in response doesn’t come.  
  
Instead, Rose pauses for a moment, as if trying to make a decision. Then she asks, so quietly he almost doesn’t hear her over the din of the party, “And what about to your people?”  
  
The Doctor notices, not for the first time that night, that Rose’s dress is done up in Prydonian colors.  
  
The bodice is scarlet and the skirt is orange, with more scarlet detailing at the hem and the waist. It’s far too chic and classically feminine to really resemble Gallifreyan clothing – there aren’t nearly enough unnecessary layers, or unwieldy accessories. And yet–  
  
Despite the way seeing Rose wrapped up in orange and scarlet makes him feel – how there’s a snarled knot of want and resignation, of love and grief-past and grief-to-come, in the space between his hearts – for a moment the colors seem far too bright to bear, and he has to look away.  
  
“Oh, this’d be far too stylish for them,” he says, and the brightness is so thin, so false, that he knows Rose can tell. “They went in for a lot of dusty robes and funny hats.”


End file.
